Romantic as Logs
by Paper Lanterns And Yogurt
Summary: "Son, have girls been chasing you trying to tear your clothes off?"


A young boy stomps into the house, indignant fury on his pale cheeks and he calls to the backyard that serves as a training ground: "_MOOOM_!"

Something that sounds similar to an explosion goes off and suddenly feet are rushing to the front of the abode. Before the boy there is a pretty little woman with brown hair still up in buns she has never seemed to outgrown. Beside her is a very handsome man that looks like an older version of the boy wearing his usual white robes that remain immaculate as always.

"Mom!" the boy repeats, nearly red and blue in the face from his annoyance and devastating debasement. "Do you know what day it is?" And just like his father he can turn any question into a demand with just the flick of his deep voice despite only being thirteen. The spitting image, one could say, if his eyes weren't the palest of browns.

His hair, normally kept clean and tied back, has lost its hairtie and falls over his shoulders in a slightly tangled heap. Even though it is dark like his father's, it is an abomination like his mother's due to how thick and coarse it is, tangling every chance it gets and fuzzing up like a ball of fur. His skin has multiple scratches on it, mainly from stray twigs and from running through the trees recklessly. A bit of perspiration also clings to him as the boy heaves a bit from his outburst. What looks suspiciously like a bite mark on his right forearm alerts the couple as they assess the damage and find out what happened.

"It's February," the woman replies, quickly cupping her son's cheeks in her hands. "Honey, what happened to your face?"

"I had to outrun a pack of rabid dogs," he spats as if it were casual. "Now, what _day_ of February is it?"

"The fourteenth," the father replies as he inspects the bite mark. "Is this wound also from the rabid dogs?"

The son shakes his head but it isn't very good with his mother's hands still holding him still. "No, that was from the Mutt Boy. Do you know what _special event_ occurs on February the Fourteenth?" Though his voice is even, his tone speaks volumes that would topple mountains. The couple's son is upset about something, and in a very typical fashion like the father he is making them work for the answer.

And the Mutt Boy is sadly their son's 'best friend' by default and his also teammate. He is from the Inuzuka clan, which would probably explain the pack of dogs.

It takes a moment for the parents to puzzle out their son's mystery, and meanwhile the woman is applying disinfectant to the multiple little scratches as well as the bite from a medical kit hidden in one of the many scrolls kept around the house. Who knows what the Mutt Boy has put in his mouth.

Finally, the father announces, "It's Valentine's Day." The mother makes a surprised sound, like she had never thought of it. Neither seem to possess a romantic bone in their body, the son notes dryly. Their gifts for each other are either weapons, scrolls, or something equally practical. Their anniversaries consist of a nice homemade dinner with friends because neither can cook to save their lives. The son can count on his two hands how many times he has heard his parents saying that they love each aloud ever since he learned how to count in the first place. Something as insignificant as Valentine's Day would never cross their mind when they can instead do something funner like training.

The son nods in affirmation. "And you know what _happens_ on Valentine's Day?" His voice turns sour, and the father has morbid flashbacks of random girls physically throwing themselves at him when he was his son's age. The vast amounts of love notes and chocolates and the horrible, _horrible_ squealing.

"Son, have girls been chasing you trying to tear your clothes off?"

At that, the son turns a deep red similar to the father's cousin. Only his red is not from embarrassment, but from sheer fury. "No!" he shouts, angry once more as the veins around his eyes begin to grow. "And it's all mom's fault!" The woman's eyes widen at this. One, her son usually is very polite with her, and even though she missed the days he called her 'momma' or 'mommy' he only calls her 'mom' when he is feeling rushed.

"How is it my fault?" she inquires after making sure her son's scratches are all taken care of.

The boy digs into his pocket and fishes out a scroll, pulling it open and biting his thumb to smear the blood across the symbols. With a puff of smoke, hundreds upon hundreds of cards and bouquets and chocolates come tumbling out and land in between the trio's feet. The two adults even have to take a step back as their living room floor is covered in roses and petunias and daisies and marigolds of all colors.

"Guess who these are for," the son says stonily, glaring down at each individually wrapped box as if a demonic hellchild would spring out of one of them.

The woman turns pink as she picks a box up. "Me? Why would your classmates give you all these gifts for me? And this doesn't explain the dogs, honey." As she says this, her husband is fuming beside her. She will later say that this is the first time she'd gotten a Valentine's present so 'romantic', and the following day she will suddenly sport a very expensive diamond necklace.

"Mother, let me tell you that you are a very attractive woman. And males my age apparently like attractive women twenty years older than they are," the son says - parents giving mixed expressions on the explanation - his eyes narrowing as he recalls the day's events. "The problem is though, they have never showed you this attention before. So when I received all of these presents marked for you, I became suspicious. One, no females gave me chocolate. Two, the Mutt Boy was not at the academy this day. And three, the Flower Girl would not stop giggling."

A slight snicker at the first clue. Their son, a spitting image of his father, did not enjoy the attention he got from his 'admirers' but his love of sweet foods causes for him to enjoy taking advantage of his good looks more than once. Even when he was a baby he was a heartbreaker. As well, the Flower Girl their son refers to is Uchiha's eldest daughter who is also part of the boy's team. He refers to her as a Flower due to her strong genjutsu often using fauna as the illusion, and many times has he been plunged into a world full of colorful growth that made his eyes hurt for days. In short: he doesn't like her.

But the person he dislikes most of the Mutt Boy. Their intense rivalry has destroyed restaurants and buildings before. So it was likely that the Inuzuka was the main problem causer.

"Because Mutt Boy was not in attendance, I immediately went to track him down," the boy continued, kicking a box with irritation. He folds his arm in front of his chest, eyes glinting dangerously that it is almost funny how pouty he is getting. Still, his parents listen dutifully. "He was hiding and when I tried to catch up he would run away. I had to trick him into Flower Girl's genjutsu before I found out the reason for his disappearance and all of the gifts." Now, a tick appeared above the boy's brow as he stuffed his hand into his pant's pocket.

"The reason all these gifts are for you is because - " the boy pulled out a photograph and held it up so that his parents could see - "Mutt Boy showed them a picture of you in a scandalous position!"

Despite knowing that his parents lacked romance like a desert lacked water, the son was beyond mortified that their sex life was so _kinky_. The photo was of his mother, wearing his father's clothes... from back in his genin days. She had even wrapped up her right arm and leg as she lay tempting on their shared futon, hair undone and tied back just like her husband's used to be with the straps at the side. She was probably even wearing his old headband too.

The pants, though shorts, were too small on her and thus clung to her hips in a restraining fashion. The front was undone, revealing some black lace. The shirt, though baggier, had the first part of it undone and was smoothly slid off her shoulders to show the black straps of a bra peeking out. The zipper on the shirt was cleverly zipped down just enough to show some cleavage, not enough to show how much but enough to show that it was there.

And her eyes were _smoldering_ at the person who took the picture, head tilted down a bit so she could look between her lashes with liquid copper. It didn't help that the only light from a nearby lantern, giving her tanned skin an almost burning glow. She gave a coy grin, as it knowing full well what her gaze was doing. The son of this woman had never been so embarrassed by his mother in his entire life.

The boy's parents have their eyes wide and mouths agape. The mother is the first to speak, cheeks ablaze and eyes averted. "Whe-where did your friend get that picture?"

"He has a box," the son says, and his father's eyes seem to light on fire. "He wouldn't let me have it, and when I Jyuukened them out of his hands they landed in the kennels by his house and he ordered his dogs to chase after me."

The boy huffs, looking down at the goodies. "So that's why I blame you, mother. If you were not so attractive maybe Mutt Boy would not have stolen the pictures and showed all of the other males of the academy. That way, the females would have not questioned my sexuality and I would have obtained a lot more sweets. You can have the flowers though. Happy Valentine's mother." And with that, the boy picks up one of the boxes and decides to head to his room.

He is already down the hallway, unwrapping his goods, when his father says, "What about the box?"

His son looks over his shoulder. "The Mutt Boy attacked me, which is why I have this bite. The box was destroyed, but all of the photographs were thrown in their air. The males from the Academy are already out there trying to collect them. I only got one back, and Flower Girl took three home to show her father like the delinquent sissy she is." He pops a heart-shaped piece of milk chocolate in his mouth as he turns back and continues his walk to his room, his temper tantrum over.

The mother and the father stay stiff in the living room though, a small sea of love letters and flowers and boxes of junk food at their feet whilst compromising pictures of the woman are drifting in the air and being sought after by hormonal teenage boys. The father finally leans down and picks up one of the luxuriously wrapped boxes, handing it to his wife as he walks over the pile and out the front door.

"Where are you going?" she questions as she opens the lid. She could use some comfort food right now, because she's not going to show her face for a long time.

Her husband audibly cracks his knuckles. "Getting back my Valentine's Day presents," he replies icily before sprinting off, closing the front door with a bang. The woman sighs, and plops a piece of sweet dark chocolate into her mouth before heading to where her son had gone. He'll need to find new friends because everyone he knows will be in the hospital by tomorrow morning.


End file.
